Page 116 of Right Man, Right Time
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks as I grab my mini backpack and head out of my dorm.
I loop my arm through Ross’s and say, “Yes. Plus, we can get nachos, and I know how much you love nachos.”
“I do like nachos,” he says as we head to the front of the dorm where an Uber waits for us.
“Does the driver already know we’re going to the arena?” Ross asks.
“He does.”
Ross shakes his head at me. “I feel bamboozled.”
“The night is young, Ross. We have all the time in the world to celebrate. Now get in the car. I don’t want to be late for . . . uh . . . the shoot off?”
“I believe the term you’re looking for is puck drop,” the driver says as we buckle up.
I lean forward and ask, “Do you know about hockey?”
“Been watching all my life.” He pulls out onto the main campus road.
“Mister, we are going to need you to give us a crash course.”
* * *
“This iswhere my nipples fall off,” Ross says as he shivers next to me.
“Stop it. It’s not that cold.” My clattering teeth beg to differ.
“And how did he get these front-row seats for you?” Ross asks, looking around at the people who are banging against the glass, begging for the attention of the Agitators who are warming up.
“I don’t know. Magic?” I stand on my toes and glance around, looking for Silas. I have no idea what number he is or what he would look like in a jersey, so I scan for his last name. “Do you see him?”
“What? Sorry, I’m distracted by the man beside us who has mustard in his beard.” Ross speaks louder. “Excuse me, sir, you have mustard in your beard.”
“Oh hell, really?” the boisterous man says. “That’s what I get for scarfing down three hot dogs before the game.”
Horrified, Ross turns toward me and mouths, “Three,” eyes wide and shivering.
I try not to laugh as I scan the ice, not seeing him. That’s until the crowd erupts and a blur of black and purple flies across the ice, then stops suddenly in front of another player, shooting ice all over him. The crowd cheers, pictures are taken, and I glance around as children, women, and grown-ass men start calling for Silas to look at them.
“I think he’s arrived,” Ross says. “And who did he get ice on?”
I catch a glimpse of the name on the back and see that it’s Posey.
“Oh, it must be something they do every game because that’s his friend Posey.” I ask mustard beard, “Does Silas do that every game to Posey?”
“Yeah, the crowd loves it.”
“See.” I elbow Ross in the side. “Look at me knowing stuff.”
“Congrats, who figured you knew about ice shards?”
“Better than nothing.” I snuggle into Ross and give him a little shake. “Lighten up, it is my birthday after all. And guess what I read on the way over here when Sal wouldn’t stop talking about the rules of hockey?”
“Something you should have been listening to . . .”
I roll my eyes. “I clocked out after ten minutes. But I did see that there is an openly gay player on the team.”
“Who?” Ross says, nearly using my head as a stool to get a better look. “Where is he? I’ll be the judge of him.”
